


SPLIT

by Dashimba



Category: The 100 (TV), The 100 (TV) RPF, The 100 Series - Kass Morgan
Genre: Alternative uviverse, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Heavy Angst, Multi, spy AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-29 17:51:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19405201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dashimba/pseuds/Dashimba
Summary: The thing is Clarke considers herself as a perfectionist. She knows herself she’s the real deal. Always concentrated and attentive, she was the best student in 'Anomaly’s Academy. She knows ten ways to code information. She even learnt Chinese and French, because knowledge of foreign languages increased her chances to be chosen on her first mission.She lingered in martial art class every Thursday to practice for one more hour. When students usually took two extra classes, she chose five. She doesn’t know why, maybe because her pain for being an orphan transitioned to her desire to be the best of the best. At everything.People call her ‘genius’, she prefers ‘lucky.





	SPLIT

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everyone! This AU story was inspired by prompt from tumblr. 
> 
> The story of Clarke Clarke Griffin through the sight of growing up in 'Anomaly' spy school and her relationship with Bellamy Blake.
> 
> It will be a long journey! Get ready!

Chapter 1. **The Birth.**

* * *

Imagine you just broke some fingers. The sound of crumbling bones was the first thing you heard, then came the ravishing pain. And, maybe, even blood if you weren’t one lucky bastard. Too much blood. After that there is only simple horror of more and more coming.

_Mixed feelings._

Clarke Griffin experiences them all in colors, when a bear-man takes her hand and twists it counterclockwise. Not the orgasm, she could say. She could feel itching from split up, taste iron in her mouth. Her knuckles remind her of one purple jellyfish. ‘Please… stop!’ she begs, swallowing her tears. Hands automatically goes to her stomach.

But begging never leads to a defeat. So, she decides to run. She hits muscle into the balls. It gives her enough time to go out of the barely illuminating small space. S _he should have tried better…_

Concepts slowly became ghost, and her thoughts roll into tangled ball of ideas. Something important, something red-alerting in her mind, telling her why she should run, escape and free herself. Red lights pass Clarke. From the distance she could hear repeated heavy steps.

She doesn’t know what it feels like to be haunted. She was always the predator, the hunter. Now she is only deer, hiding from the jaguar.

Is it a fear, knocking on her doors? Now she knows hot it feels. To know your end in near. You finally on the last step of the ladder.

_They want me dead…Dead._

The flow of panic jumps to her heart. She can’t stop running. Her feet are vibrating, lungs are burning. She is the loaded gun ready to shoot. The dirty wet walls are closing in her mind. She stumbles and falls. Hit of ground feels almost welcoming.

‘She is there!’ voice shouts. ‘Go get her!’. Clarke tries to stand up, and another punch flies to her jaw. She is trying to pull, kicking man stomach with her legs, but eventually bend from the pain. He pulls her hair with tag sharp, she hisses from pain. To revenge, she bites his fingers. ‘Little bitch!’ he snaps. ‘I will kill you!’ His veiny muscled arms take her and throws to the wall.

Clarke whines, senses her ribs being smashed. The pain washes over her. She thinks about loss, doesn’t really understand why so. Woman in red dress is standing in the shadowed corner, smirking to the celling. She sees it as red tie continues to beat her by series of short frantic kicks right on her ribs, arms and legs. The thought of meaningful thing is fading away, when voice forces: ‘Stop, we need her alive!’

Voice is echoing in the back of her mind. She watches rubber sole landing on her head and blacks out.

Clarke dreams about thick dark curls traveling through her fingers. Big strong hands on her hips, diving them in a split. Feeling of hot silk skin of sharp shoulders under her nails. Cold grass in comparisons with her boiling skin. Eons of stars, glowing and glaring down on two milk bodies, blanketed by the night. Melting words in the whisper trace of their movements.

Frantic plasmatic desire, ranging in her ears. ( _Closer… Be closer, please._ )

_My love…_

This huge marvelous world concentrates in one spot and then explodes like the hundreds of atomic bombs.

She floats far away, happy and calmed on outskirts of outlying place, where deep fears and despair doesn’t exist anymore. She wakes up, hearing the sound of ticking watch. Her head feels heavy, while her hips are sore and aching. She tries to stand up, but fails, stopped by confident dark hand. She knows these hands.

She has seen them for eight years in the light of their bedroom, holding the book, at the missions, holding a gun. On her, roaming around her body.

She looks up, and what she sees doesn’t surprise her. Mostly, because he was there all the years she failed on missions. Her ‘devoted little knight’ as they called him back to academy. He is towering over her with scowling eyebrows and lips all thin and pursed. She feels like a little girl after mischief. Seriously, after all these years he is still the same controlling freak. But at the same time deep under the skin crawls tormenting sense of fear. She rushes and puts a hand over her mouth, slowly remembering the string of events happened. And each moment of her life flashes before her eyes.

The thing is Clarke considers herself as a perfectionist. She knows her she’s the real deal. Always concentrated and attentive, she was the best student in ‘Anomaly’ Academy. She knows ten ways to code information. She even learnt Chinese and French, because knowledge of foreign languages increased her chances to be chosen on her first mission.

She lingered in martial art class every Thursday to practice for one more hour. When students usually took two extra classes, she chose five. She doesn’t know why, maybe because her pain for being an orphan transitioned to her desire to be the best of the best. At everything.

People call her ‘genius’, she prefers ‘lucky’.

'Anomaly’ Academy was, actually, a mystery going around in orphanage. She was only eight years old when they took her from her backward home town and made her what she is now. She still remembers the day when kids were whispering with the light under the duvet about how ‘Anomaly' Academy is vampire place with Frankenstein in the lead. The vampires are immortal, so they created a creature of their own kind, but failed to subdue him. Now he’s ruling their kingdom, where each kid becomes the part of his Eclipse Army.

She never believed it, as she knew wonders just don’t exist. All of Santa, Tooth Fairy things didn’t get to her as to the most kids. She recalled when her mother threw at her a glass bottle when was asked about Christmas presents. After that Clarkes child mind refused to believe in anything magic-like at all.

She wasn’t friends with boys or girls. All children were avoiding her, because she didn’t tack much, but when she did – her chats was always space and painting, lately seen. Clarke couldn’t get their obsession with toys, as well as they could get her obsession with ancient telescope in their yard.

Once their teacher just took her hand and lead her to the hall, where two very well-dressed woman were standing in the corner, chatting. Two long formal dark red dresses made their faces even edgier, figures slimmer.

The teacher bends down to her and said: ‘Could you, please, seat over there. Clarkie?’ She blinks in confusion, asking: ‘Why?’ Teacher squints, bites lip and says ‘Just adults talk. Don’t worry, honey!’

Clarke shrugs and moves to the wall, where all of their photos are decorated as paper flowers in one big bouquet. She looks and Emori round face. She never dared to talk to her, but, honesty, as everyone else. She had bitten everyone who ever got a chance to get closer than 5 steps.

Kids were afraid of her, Clarkes at the same time was fascinated by her skills with numbers in math class. She could remember almost all twenty in one attempt. (Clarke managed to memorize only 14, second place, but still not good enough.)

But once time during the lunch break, when Clarke was drawing ‘ocean’ and couldn’t find another ‘jar’ of white paint.

To her surprise, Emori was looking at her drawing from her shoulder.

‘Beautiful!’ she said, uncertainly shifting from one foot to another.

‘Thank you’ Clarke smiled.

After that wanted jar of white paint somehow appeared in her pocket. Only ears later Clarke will realize that it was Emori doing. She was never ever engaged in art class. Her paints were politely ignored, while Emori was looking at the window whole lesson. Clarke always wondered what she saw there, in usual urban scenery. It felt like out there was whole new fairy Emori world, filled with dreadful, yet magnificent creatures.

Each time Clarke tried to spot it, she failed.

She looked back to her teachers, brokenly gesticulating.

‘They are memory skills are breathtaking!’ she pointed her head on Clarke. ‘She has the rationalize mind of grown adult. Have you seen her drawings? She’s gifted!'

One of the women is wishfully watching her. She has long, chestnut wavy hair, her statue is sublime.

She interrupts chattering teacher, ‘We will take them both. Now.’

Clarke senses weird feeling of recognition, but it quickly faded away after teacher lead her back inside.

In a few hours Clarke and Emori are jolted by the rough car road to their new home. Emori takes her hand in hers, looking around. Her eyes are the biggest coins in adult wallet. Clarke squeezed her hand in response, hoping that it will take at least ten minutes to arrive to the place.

The place from this time they will finally call home.

* * *


End file.
